


With Love, To You

by Valura_nafaria



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-13 23:02:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14757938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valura_nafaria/pseuds/Valura_nafaria
Summary: Xukun dreams of watching the world burn, but finds joy in indulging the devil hidden in angel's clothing.Zhengting exudes beauty and grace, yet finds himself captivated by the deep recesses of Xukun's mind."That's a pretty sight," Xukun muses, and Zhengting knows he's fallen.





	1. Zhengting doesn't know, Xukun doesn't care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I see the demon playing in your eyes, your actions, and all your lies.

 

Nurseries. Decked out in revolting pastel white and lilac shades, filled with resounding screams of childish delight. The perfect breeding ground for naive heroism—“I want to save the world!”, many would claim, smiling toothy grins and giggling hysterically before engaging once more in pointless antics. 

Xukun had never quite been the same as his peers, that much can be said. Call him strange, quirky, unique even. He might thank you for that. Perhaps slightly delusional, possibly psychotic, most definitely sadistic. He had been four when trouble first begun brewing, that insatiable hunger of his to watch the world burn festering. He never knew what started it all, couldn't care less so long as he could dream— to pine after seeing it crumble to ashes, slipping between his fingers onto the dusty Earth. 

And so he'd set off, a youth merely ten years of age when he claimed his first victim, a man whose name he'd long forgotten, likely didn't know in the first place. All he remembers is the euphoria, the tingling in his veins that should have set alarm bells ringing in any normal human mind. But Xukun was not normal, and neither were his parents. They'd encouraged his behaviour, never once intervening as he swung his knife around the house, watching in glee as it caught the light reflecting off the chandelier. Grimacing when it dimmed, laughing again when it flew just a little too close to the butler’s face. So, Xukun guesses, you could blame his upbringing for his supposedly “screwed up” personality. 

 

But he doesn't see it that way, so he’ll have to disagree. 

You see, unlike others, Xukun doesn't do what he does for wealth or fame. He would never exploit another man-- corruption had no part to play in his life. No, Xukun kills for the thrills, to seek instant gratification and personal satisfaction. It was normal, really, to be self-indulgent. So, Xukun presumes, he mustn't be that much of an anomaly after all. 

_“You're crazy,”_ someone had mentioned a Long time ago, back when Xukun was inexperienced and vulnerable. Well, as vulnerable as a trigger-happy child with a gun in hand could be. That is, just as much as a kid with a lollipop in hand would be. He supposes the scene felt right, _looked right_ , and he thinks his companion noticed as well. It had been interesting, watching his face contort in confusion as he tried to seek an answer that did not exist. Xukun had enjoyed staring from a distance, amused at the prospect of someone being so utterly... confused? _Perplexed?_ He didn't know the appropriate term. And neither was there a need for deeper thought, it was much easier to simply press fire. 

Xukun vaguely remembers pressing down 5 times. 

 

On a separate occasion he'd found himself sat across a battered and bruised brunette, and through the scars on his face and blood-stained hair Xukun could tell that he was probably quite a handsome man. _Unfortunate,_ Xukun thinks, as he pats him on the head, relishing the warm liquid that spread across his palm, the colour of rubies and decaying leaves in autumn. He imagines the crunching of leaves under his boots, or maybe he actually hears it, Xukun doesn't know, doesn't care to find out. _“I'm going to play nice”,_ he’d remarks, smiling, not missing the spark of hope that lights up in the man’s eyes before he thrusts forward. He imagines the thin blade mingling with soft tissues, hears it clanking against hard bones in a melodious harmony. He sees the light fade from his victim’s eyes, and he feels perturbed, though never sorry. Whoever the man had been, he'd deserved it, after all, trespassing on his family’s property for no apparent reason besides seeking sustenance fuelled by a will to live. Xukun doesn't know why he bothers with such measly concerns. Gradually, he finds he has a knack for coming up with excuses, more specifically spinning elaborate webs of lies to justify his actions though he eventually grows sick of it altogether. He supposes no one even really cared anymore by the time he’d turned 15, and so he gives up altogether.

Glancing back at the still and cold body, Xukun can't help but crinkle his nose in annoyance. He learns more about himself that day, realises he’d always rather have a clean slate to work on, but he supposes his Father had to vent his anger _somewhere_ , so he lets it go this time. 

The next time, he isn't so lucky. 

 

________________

 

“So,” a voice cuts through the silence. Xukun curses internally as he focuses on the precariously balanced cup of tea on the table next to his files. “Where to next, capt?” 

“Might wanna stop calling me that, Yi. You know I'd be more than happy to fulfil any death wish you articulate.” Xukun smiles, maintaining a comfortable distance between himself and the lanky man before him. “Especially when you express it so fervently, and frequently.” 

He makes a mental note of Ziyi’s response, curious as to how one could scoff, snort, and roll his eye all at once. He had a rather good track record of solving these inquiries by simply putting a bullet through the head and putting his biology degree to good use, but this was Ziyi and Xukun couldn't bring himself to dispose of his friend just yet. “You're dramatic.” 

“And you love to test my patience.” 

“You say that like you have any to begin with, bro.” 

Xukun hums in response, sipping on the much too diluted liquid, appreciating the fiery warmth trickling down his throat. Ziyi observes from a distance, and Xukun has to hold back from reacting as he wishes. “Careful, you'll burn yourself.” 

Xukun is about to respond, and he sees Ziyi recoil though sadly not in fear. He hears a familiar footfall sounding to his right, and quickly diverts his attention to see two of his henchmen approaching. They're decked out in all black suits, a bit too formal for the occasion if you asked him, but years of cohabitation had proved that they cared about xukun’s opinion just as much as he gave a damn about people’s lives, so he chooses to remain silent. 

“Ever heard of knocking?” He tries, repositioning his mug where it belonged-- the tiny square of marble just slightly too close in proximity to both imminent shattering and costly spillage. The others simply watched, full of questions yet content with silence. Xukun raises a brow, staring pointedly at the intruders. 

“There’s no door.” Comes the feeble excuse for a snide remark, and Xukun nearly doubles over in laughter. “It's a figure of speech, dumbass.” 

The four settle into a peaceful calm, and Xukun ponders for a moment if any part of this could be counted as normal. Probably not, he decides, based off his hypothesis that friends usually hangout and chat over meals or movies. Instead, he sits alone, the only one armed with a beverage of any sorts, and no one dares to speak. 

He notes the apprehension laced between Bu Fan’s brows, doesn't miss the stern expression that betrays little in Yue Yue. Supposes Ziyi is just bored as usual, he can't really tell, and he frowns. He isn't particularly thrilled over their lack of transparency—his experience in manipulation really ought to have taught him much more—but he can't deny it keeps him from destroying them along with the rest. He wonders if they know, preoccupies himself with questioning his morals, but never bothering to actually arrive at a conclusion. He supposes they may not even be considered his “friends” in the first place, but dwelling on pointless frivolities took up too much precious time that Xukun simply as could not be bothered to waste. And so he continues sitting. Waiting patiently, coaxing them into betraying themselves first. 

“We were out in the streets, and-“ Xukun rises, gaze levelling with Yue Yue’s. Truth be told, he really wasn't that interested in what they had to say, but acting had been one of young Xukun’s obsessions, so he’s learnt to cherish any opportunity that grants him a chance at indulgence. “-and it was pretty disgusting.” 

“Define ‘disgusting’,” Ziyi probes, before Xukun can do so himself. He doesn't resent him, though, a rare display of benevolence that surprises even himself. But he doesn't think too much of it, just signals for the pair to continue their rambling. 

He learns that people are decaying on the streets, and he seriously wonders why they'd even bothered to tell him. _Deaths occur every day, Bu Fan,_ he'd mused, twirling the still filled cup between his skilled fingers. _But this is different, Xukun._ Bu Fan had pleaded, and Xukun is alarmed at his vulnerability. He catches Yue Yue’s fleeting glance of concern, notices his attempt to close the distance between the two, and suddenly he finds amusement. _So they do know._

“So what do you propose we do?” He'd offered, as if he actually cared to listen to their opinion. He admits they are intelligent, though, and concludes that this is just another reason he's allowed them to live. He momentarily considers if he has to do away with Bu Fan, but he isn't disappointed. 

_“We set the city on fire, and move away,” came the resolute response._

 

And so, Xukun smiles. 

______________

 

_Fairies_ , people would assume of the white-clad men living beyond the rustling leaves, and Zhengting would laugh a tinkling sound before striking them down. He wonders how others could be so sorely misinformed, but finds answers in assuming their stupidity simply transcended natural boundaries. 

_Gentle, graceful, beautiful._

He realises he can’t blame them for thinking that way, so he kicks a nearby tree and purses his lips. On any other occasion he knows he'd have been called cute, and zhengting finds newfound value in his solitude. He watches the light bounce off pretty, glittering leaves, and reaches out with slender fingers. He stares as they crystallise, sees the sickly green give way to pastel pale, little networks and veins stiffening into specks of white, hints of lilac woven seamlessly in. Graceful opulence attained at the expense of life, he reasons, and momentarily wonders if nature appreciates his gift as much as he does. The prospect is fleeting, and zhengting finds himself snapping off jewel after jewel, content with knowing that at least for now, he goes unpunished. 

“I see you’re in a good mood, huh?” Zhengting doesn't look up, humming softly out of obligation. For a moment his creations turn dull and lifeless, and he crinkles his nose in disapproval. He snorts at its fragility, and notes the irony in how the arrival of one being could compromise the glow of another. Zhengting snatches his gems from the wispy twigs they hang upon, observing as the branches recover, relieved of a million burdens. _An act of mercy_ , he supposes, is what you can call it. “…I’d like to think I’m not invisible, thank you.”

“You think I should throw them away?” Zhengting questions, gazed still fixated on the pebbles in his palm. They no longer shone as brightly as before, and though Zhengting understands they would revert back if he just scattered them in the air, he also knows he's lost all interest by now. He can almost hear the exasperation manifest in the man sat beside him, and the thought makes him happy.

“If you wish.” Comes the expected response, and Zhengting flings his hand on cue, only slightly apologetic as he sees his companion dodge a flying crystal. “You didn't have to send them _my_ way, dumbass.”

“Language, Chen.” He chides, lips stretched into a mischievous smile. He doesn't miss the disbelief that flashes in his friend’s eyes, notices that it is all for show. If Yanchen feels the nudge Zhengting gives him, he certainly doesn't express it. “Hey, don’t roll your eyes at me. That’s rude.”

“And yet you pretend I don’t exist?”

“Come on, you know I love you.” Zhengting remarks, and Yanchen scoffs. Resisting the urge to smother the other in hugs, Zhengting opts to ruffle the latter’s hair, which unsurprisingly earns him a couple whines and protesting slaps. But he knows Yanchen feels the same way, and so he continues, giggling as he does.

It was either the gentle whispers of the wind, or the shrill of petals being crushed under bare feet. Zhengting doesn't know exactly what had alerted him to the presences of familiar intruders, but he shrugs it off and gets up, running to embrace his children. They greet him with faces of disgust, but hug back anyway and so Zhengting is reminded that they reciprocate his love. _That’s pretty gay, Ting_ , he hears Yanchen muse, and so he pointedly kisses Justin’s cheek. Protests and retching noises fill the air, and Zhengting laughs.

He opens the palm of his hands, glittering specks rising and falling at the wind’s every whim. They watch closely as lavish buds blossom where his creations land, finding peace in the tangled mess below their feet.


	2. Blooming Lilies, In My Mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The golden glow of the sun at noon; the silver sheen of the moon. Transcending across boundaries, an unrealised dream between me, and you.

The plan had been carried out rather smoothly, if you asked Xukun. For a city that large, he supposes he can be proud of Yue Yue for his efficiency. It had taken about an hour for his entire crew to move out of their hideout, sturdy bags and overflowing boxes in hand as they swiftly lined up in neat rows. He hadn’t bothered checking if anyone or anything had been left inside before he flicked the switch, watching as the flames licked the walls leaving dark, black stains where clean wood once stood. After all, if they couldn't practice self-discipline, then it would be their loss, never his. 

_“Boss, it’s ready.”_ Yue Yue’s voice sounded through the phone, and Xukun nods at Ziyi, who runs off into the shadows. Xukun perches on a nearby roof, arms folded on withdrawn knees as a dangerous smile tugs at the corners of his lips. He admires the beauty of the setting sun, intrigued by the streaks of vibrant pink and orange battling for dominance over pale blue. Xukun hates pastel, and so he wills it to be consumed by the darkness that draws closer with every tick of the hour. 

It didn't take long before he hears their desperate cries, but he doesn't bother looking down. The glistening gold was slowly taking over the skies now, but Xukun knows it wont be long before it succumbs to the dark of night. Already he sees flickers of bright white dotting the space, and momentarily thinks it mirrors the rising smoke from beneath the mountains. 

Somewhere along the way Ziyang informs him that both the sky and the earth had turned dark, and by the time Xukun grows bored of watching, he glances down to find black dust littering the streets of a once vibrant land. It’s interesting, he thinks, how seamlessly tranquility consumes the cacophony that filled the air just moments ago. He nods to his men, and jumps off the red roof.

“Go,” he orders, and he sees the apprehension appear in their eyes. But he doesn't wish to waste his words, and so he just stares. One by one, they begin retreating into the safety of the black vans. He knows they are aware that only thin pieces of bulletproof metal and glass stand between them and him, so he contemplates why they’d feel so safe in its cold, metal embrace. It takes a minute before he realises Yanjun is still standing before him, and he wonders when he'd grown so daring.

The midnight glow reflects off of Yanjun’s silver-blue hair, and Xukun almost misses his gentle call of _“you aren't coming with us?”_ He realises he hasn't told them where to go as he steps closer towards the man, but knows that doesn't resolve his curiosity. 

“Your contact lenses look nice today.” Xukun comments, and Yanjun smirks in response. “I always look good, boss. But you haven't answered my question.”

Xukun hears a laugh escape, but isn't quite sure who it belonged to. He shifts his hands into the pockets of his jeans, places the whole weight of his being upon his right leg. He’s mirroring Yanjun’s stance, and from the looks of it his companion is aware of the similarity. “You’re still not answering my question, boss. I need some assurance you’re not going to run off somewhere and leave us hanging after destroying our home.”

“Oh, so that’s a home to you now?” Xukun muses, and he catches the mischievous glint in Yanjun’s eyes. “What do you mean, boss? My home is where you are.”

He resists the urge to whack Yanjun on the head for his flirtatious comment, and thinks he ought to be glad Xukun has long been desensitised to his antics. From the first time Xukun had let him enter the base, he’d gone around bothering quite literally everyone who breathed. _“Hello there, I’m Yanjun.”_ He’d said in a way of greeting, and Xukun had watched as almost everyone fell prey to his captivating eyes and smooth speeches. His charm had quickly been marred by his quick-witted mind, if Xukun had to put it nicely, and every hour of the day the group had been bombarded with jokes that left them shivering even in the warmth of summer. But Xukun knows they all needed some humour in their life, and so he’d forgiven, though never forgotten.

The sound of boots impatiently tapping on the ground interrupts his thoughts, and so Xukun looks up to see that Ziyi has joined them. “Hey, bro.” He greets, and Yanjun nods in response, scanning the lanky man covered in streaks of ash. “Looking good, _bro_.”

Xukun almost gags, and decides he wants some privacy. So he commands them to head North, dismissing their concerns with several “ _I’m not going to kill myself, Ziyi”s_ and _“go away, Lin Yanjun”s._ Finally they glance at each other before sighing in defeat, and Xukun is appeased as he hears the revving of engines, coughing slightly as the tires kick up close of dust around him. He despises his allergies, and so he stands for as long as he can handle before scowling and running off, cursing his parents for his one weakness.

He gasps for air as he settles on a nearby bench, the only one that remained standing after Ziyi had destroyed all the rest. He doesn't notice the single white lily that blooms in the distance for a long time, and sniggers at the irony of it all. He squats beside the fragile blossom, fingers tracing the dew-laced petals. It feels soft, but the trail of red that appears beneath his touch provides a surreality that compels Xukun to wonder if its all just part of his imagination.

He hears someone approaching, and turns back to see a familiar face illuminated by the glistening stars. “I thought I told you to leave?”

“I doubted you planned to walk all the way to Lefuria,” the intruder shrugs, and Xukun finds satisfaction in their tacit understanding. “I think you've had enough time to yourself, boss.”

“Maybe,” Xukun responds, pushing himself off the ground. “But you wouldn’t let me stay any longer anyways.”

“Perhaps.” Yanjun says, and he signals for Xukun to follow. Xukun is momentarily fazed, but Yanjun quickly turns back around, flashing a smile that prevents his hand from drawing any closer to the gun strapped to his belt. Not that he'd have actually done it, or at least that’s what Xukun would like to believe. But Yanjun cuts him off before he can fall deeper into the recesses of his mind, and Xukun is once again grateful for his presence. He catches the roll of bandage thrown at him, and is stunned momentarily. “You’re bleeding, boss. I thought you knew everything.”

And so Xukun glances down at his dripping finger, only realising now that the white lily was long gone. 

 

_________

 

“Tell me again how you murdered him?”

“I didn't murder him, Justin.” Zhengting sighs exasperatedly, and Yanchen wonders how he could sound so beautiful even when he was talking about death. Passion, he pinpoints as the perpetrator, since he notices the glow in his best friend’s eyes whenever he tells stories of his favourite past time. “I merely _killed_ him.”

Zhengting takes personal offence to the eyebrows being raised across the room, so he puffs out his cheeks in annoyance and swats away Cheng Cheng’s approaching hand. “He deserved it, okay? I think that doesn't constitute murder.”

“For someone so bright and experienced, I’m surprised you could be so horribly wrong on the definition of such a simple word.” Wenjun comments, and Zhengting shoots him a pointed glare that he ignores with conditioned ease. “And they call you wise.”

“Fuck you, Wenjun. I’m taking that as a compliment.”

“Alas, what a horribly misinformed leader we have. Woe is me.” Comes the deadpan response, and this time Zhengting actually reaches out to hit the boy’s head. Justin snickers somewhere to his right, and so Wenjun returns the favour by following in Zhengting’s footsteps. Naturally, that sets of a chain of abuse and screams of pain, and Zhengting’s head throbs. “Enough.” He commands, and is met with a chorus of _“you started it!”_

_“_ Well, _I’m_ the oldest. Now shut your noisy mouths up and actually make yourselves useful.”

“I _was_ being useful, Ting. I provided moral support.”

Zhengting glances distastefully at Yanchen, but even the sun’s smile couldn't stop him from turning away almost instantaneously. “You didn't even help me clean up the body.”

“You literally crystallised him and sent him flying into the wind. I don't see how I could've helped you with that, idiot.”

Zhengting is about to respond, but Justin is faster. Always is when he whines, and Zhengting cringes at the thought. “Why was Yanchen-ge allowed to watch but not me?”

“You’re a baby.” The other four reply in unison, and Justin’s mouth gapes open. “I’m 16!”

“That’s really not helping your case.” Zhengting muses, and he quickly gets off the boulder upon which he had rested. He ignores the questioning glances sent his way, disappearing into the bejewelled forest without sparing his children a second thought. 

He imagines he looks rather good with the light shining upon him through the canopy of branches shielding him from the evening sun above, the reflection in the silvery waters confirming his prior suspicions. He immerses a slender finger beneath the surface, slivers of mercury mingling and meshing, dissolving into a pool of liquid silver. It was a stunning sight, and Zhengting presumes it would be capable of bewitching any fool who managed to venture this deep into his territory. So he conjures two silver orbs and hangs one on a nearby tree, staring as his side profile appears in the other he holds in his palm. 

He envisions the prospect of an unassuming human sinking his feet, or arms, or body into the rushing waves, but no amount of imagination can satisfy his desire to watch human skin burn and scar, and Zhengting furrows his brows. Perhaps he should just make them solidify into silver statues? That way he’d actually be able to keep them by his sides, trophies indicative of his benevolence and intelligence.

But he figures that’s much too merciful, and so he reaches in again, ensuring that the waves would approach before the victim himself would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> White lilies = purity, so its ironic cause kunkun is nothing but pure evil in this fic 
> 
> Also, I tried to convey the fire with the sky scene in the roof part but idk if anyone caught it but also struggled cause i didnt wanna be too explicit :/ idk could yall tell? I'm trying a lot of resonance-ish stuff in this fic, so I'm hoping it carries my intentions across well enough!
> 
> As usual, leave me some kudos and comments if you'd like, I'll respond to everyone <3 and also find me on twitter @valuranafaria for fanart and fic updates ilyall :)


	3. Diabolical Thrills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to love when all you do is slip by me in a flurry of intangible desires and unfulfilled musings.

Ziyang has managed to escape unscathed on several occasions, so he considers himself a rather lucky man. He speeds down narrow roads and curving alleys, a product of complacency and perhaps plain impatience. Between the frenzy of yellow streets lights left pining in the dust and the shrill of sputtering engines, Ziyang finds time to admire his own reflection in the musty rearview mirror. He lifts a wavering hand off the warm rubber wheel and runs it through his tangled hair, stiffened with gel yet breaking apart with every gentle breeze. He feels a hand encircle his wrist, so he raises an eyebrow and stares ahead with a meaningful glance.

_“Don’t.”_ It comes as a warning, clear as day if Ziyi’s tone was anything to go by. But Ziyang cares little for the friendly reminder of road safety, so he crosses both hands and observes as Ziyi’s arm comes snaking forward. Ziyang briefly considers stepping on the breaks just to see how far the car would tumble, but he's lazy so he just lets Ziyi steer them away from the edge of the cliff.  Ziyang almost chortles at the sight of the usually composed man leaning over from his seat, all erratic breathing and nervous gazes. “ _Don’t fucking do it, Ziyang. Don’t even think about it.”_

 

“I’m just having fun, chill out.” He responds, already bored as he tears his gaze away from the icy stare with a swift tilt of his head. He regains control of the wheel and skilfully manoeuvres around a sloping bend, but stays close enough to the rocky mountains for the thrill of amusement. He can feel Ziyi’s condescending gaze, and so he steps even harder on the pedal, grinning in diabolical satisfaction as he sees the man fall forward through peripheral vision. “You’re fucked up, Yang.”

“A tone of endearment, what a nice surprise. I didn’t know you were capable of that?”

Ziyi leans back in his seat, sparing the other no more than a pointed glare for his lame remark. He feels someone nudge his shoulder, but ignores it and closes his eyes. Soon enough the sensations stop, and stagnant calm envelopes like a draping curtain upon which Ziyi rests.

 

They didn’t hate each other, clearly not since they'd ended up in the same vehicle without protest. But Ziyi knew that if given a choice to escape or save his life, Ziyang would undoubtedly choose the former. The same goes for him, and its a mutual understanding that he supposes they should be grateful for. Past experiences had taught him how emotional attachment could be one of mankind’s greatest weakness, so he cherishes Ziyang’s presence much more than anyone would expect.

“Thinking about me, handsome?” Ziyang probes, and Ziyi scoffs though he doesn't deny it. He considers chiding Ziyang for spending so much time with the flirt of their group, but decides against it when he realises more than a minute has passed. He reasons that Ziyang doesn't need answers to questions he already knows, so Ziyi puts aside his manners as he always does with the man. On nights like this where his thoughts are left to fester and run wild he finds himself increasingly in awe of Ziyang’s complete indifference towards life. 

Where Xukun’s ecstatic grins would betray his delight with every kill, Ziyang would always stare ahead with neutral expressions as he smoothens his coat and steps over corpses. _“We’re done, let’s go.”_ Was a habitual response he’d trademarked over the years, a chilling normalcy that sometimes leaves Ziyi flinching in the dead of night.

He thinks back to the first time he'd met Xukun, a curious face framed by chocolate brown hair turned his way from between the cemented walls. The boy had stared at him with wide eyes, confused pout morphing into a brilliant smile. He remembers being greeted with a wave, a simple gesture that blinded his senses to the cold breeze that had blossomed within him, screaming at him to run, to hide. But he’s stunned by the allure of crimson splattered on pale skin, captivated by the figure who sits cross-legged on the ashen path. The sound of metal slamming on concrete isn't enough to alert him to the shadow slowly approaching, and suddenly he's only inches away from the ethereal being. _“I’m Xukun,”_ the boy had said with practiced ease, and Ziyi finds himself reaching for the outstretched hand. _“Ziyi.”_ He’d mustered despite his incoherence, realising he no longer minds exchanging bloodied handshakes.

_He’s adorable!_ His parents had cooed, smothering the young Xukun with pats and hugs after he’d exited Ziyi’s washroom, dripping hands wiping down the sides of the borrowed hoodie. _Is he your friend, Ziyi?_ He hadn't known how to respond then, stealing quick glances at the uninterested boy staring down at his interlocked fingers. A pointed look had been direct his way as he'd nodded, a fleeting moment that leaves a permanent imprint on his mind.

 

Now Ziyi lets out a low chuckle as he lights the cigarette clasped between his fingers, and wonders if he too would have been misled by his friend’s innocent demeanour had they met under even slightly different circumstances. Countless times he arrives at the same answer, but finds himself repeatedly beguiled by both the memory and the man he shares it with. And so Ziyi casts the joint through the sliver of cold air, wispy smoke morphing to the whim of his deluded mind.

A steady hand gravitates towards a playful smirk, and it vanishes between his fingers.

 

______________

 

Migraines are horrible, and Xukun thinks that’s just another addition to the long line of grievances he holds against the universe. The rising sun beats down on him and instead of being grateful for the warmth it brings he wishes instead he could have _some_ shelter of sorts. But he knows Yanjun cares too much for his own complexion to be his human shield, so Xukun finds himself wishing it had been Ziyi who’d hung back instead. 

“Your phone is ringing, boss.” Yanjun’s voice sounds from where Xukun presumes is in the general direction of the car, and suddenly he feels like strangling the privileged man. He’d hoped he could muster the strength to even crawl to the vehicle in question, even if it meant looking like a complete fool in front of one of the most egotistical man he knew. But the pain was paralysing, so Xukun is left abandoned on the roadside. 

He doesn't know how much time has passed before he finally gains respite from the harsh light, but its enough for him to mutter something along the lines of _took you long enough, asshole._ He hears an obnoxious snigger, but is too tired to even bother swatting in Yanjun’s direction when he knows he’ll likely only hit empty air. 

“Better late than never, boss.” He hears Yanjun say, and he can almost picture the man pushing the device into his open palm before standing up and shoving his hands in his pockets like he always does. “There’s your phone, I’ve done my duty. I need to get into the shade now.”

“Fuck you, Lin Yanjun.” Xukun grumbles before catching himself. He blames his dimmed senses for the slip-up, and for once he forgets about the prospect of murdering Yanjun in favour of suicide. “No wait, pretend I never said that.”

“Maybe when you’re sober, boss.” Yanjun chuckles, and Xukun feels himself wilting inside. “I will actually murder your sorry ass.”

“Never knew you liked my ass so much you gave it a nickname. That’s cute.”

“Kindly fuck off, thank you.”

“As you wish, Kun.” Yanjun utters under his breath, and Xukun actually contemplates shooting randomly. He doesn't mind emptying his entire roll of ammunition, and given that he has a 95% success rate of hitting the bullseye he thinks he has a pretty good shot of at least leaving Yanjun mortally wounded.

But the ringing of the phone pulls him from his thoughts, and Xukun thinks Yanjun ought to be eternally grateful to whichever idiot was on the other end of the line. He finds that bickering with the older man has actually forced the ache to subside, but Yanjun doesn't deserve any thanks for his stupid bravado so Xukun just grabs the offending device and brings it to his ear without bothering looking at the caller ID. “What do you want?”

_“You don't have to be so rude, Kun. We haven’t talked in so long and that’s how you greet me?”_

Xukun straightens up against the granite he leans upon, and curses under his breath. It scratches against his shirt, and he thinks he feels warm liquid trickling down his back, but he doesn’t mind. “Oh, it’s you.” He responds simply, fiddling with his fingers as he flicks a pebble into the distance, watching it tip over the edge and disappear into oblivion.

_“You really don't love me anymore, huh.”_

Xukun pauses to wonder just how much he must have sinned for him to be punished in so many ways at the same time, but realises the irony in such a thought so he just sighs. He presses his fingers on the bridge of his nose, steadying his breath to the best of his abilities. It doesn’t help that he can see Yanjun shifting in his sit, and reckons he could only be taking pictures of his pathetic leader. “I never claimed to.”

Static noise mingles with distant laughter, and Xukun’s mind conjures up images he’d been trying to suppress all this time. _“I know, I know. I’m just playing with you, Kunkun.”_ The caller sings, and Xukun turns gleeful as he imagines wiping the smug smirk off his face. He doesn't notice his eyes have grown dark, couldn't even fathom the possibility had he not seen the dark blue hues gathered around the crescent hollows in his palm. He envisions his surroundings growing dark, perceives needle-like thorns thriving on scrawny branches as they wrap around him, immersing but never drawing blood. But he is conscious enough to understand this isn't a scene movie, and realises he will never be the lead.

“I will fucking kill you if you call me that again,” he growls lowly, though he knows his expression remains stoic. He wishes now that Yanjun was sat before him, since he knows him all too well and knows he cowers when Xukun goes slightly psychotic. “I may be impartial to you, Ruibin. But there is a limit for everything and I’d rather not find out how far my patience extends.”

_“Always so dramatic, you really-“_

“Cut to the chase and stop bothering me.” Xukun interrupts, fed up with Ruibin’s games. Part of him wishes to see his phone follow the trajectory of the fallen pebble, but he knows he’ll likely benefit from listening, and so he concedes. Humans are interesting beings, he thinks, always so ready to make exceptions for potential gains. 

_“Well, I have a proposition.”_ Xukun finds he can barely make out what Ruibin is saying, and thinks he really ought to be harsher on his subordinates, suddenly aware that its been a long time since he’d really punished any of his men. He recalls the satisfaction he’d gained watching Ziyi pour pungent liquid around a newbie who'd attempted to abscond with his supplies over a year ago. He misses the clarity he’d heard in his desperate pleas, and finds he wouldn't mind recreating the scene alone. Just for him to enjoy, with no one else bearing witness. 

“Go on,” he urges, as he lifts himself off the ground, predatory gaze trained on the silver-haired man who perches peacefully upon the leather seat. “So you want to invade?” 

 

_“…A plausible course of action, don’t you think?”_

“Perhaps.”

_“Meet me in town, then.”_ He hears the man chuckle from the other end of the line, as he toys with the blade in his hands. Its portable, adorned with basic carvings on black wood. Xukun’s never been a fan of flashy things, though he admits Ling Chao’s bejewelled everything makes for a pretty sight when it cuts through a beating heart. It’s small enough to fit in the hands of an eleven year old youth, and Xukun wonders when it’d gotten so light. “ _I can tell you're already losing focus, yes?”_

“You know me so well, Bin bin.” He coos, and he knows Ruibin understands what he means. _“Go ahead and finish your business, baby. I’ll be expecting you by nightfall.”_

“Don’t worry, I’ll be done in a minute.” Xukun muses, unfazed by the audacious use of a preposterous nickname. He has enough time to deal with the offender later, so he pushes a button and sees the screen go black.

 

“Hey, Yanjun.” He grins as he sidles up to the sleeping man. “Hey boss, you ready to g-“ comes the tired response, as he closes the distance and finds a steady grip on his companion’s neck.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I really just make everyone flirt with everyone else? Maybe!  
> Have I ever seen Ziyang/Ziyi talk irl? Nope. But apparently its a plausible ship ahem
> 
> But its ok I hope this chapter wasn't too bad, im gna make zhengkun meet in like the next chap or sthing IM TRYING MY BEST ;-;
> 
> Do leave me some kudos and comments~ I really do love reading and responding to all of your views so yup thanks for indulging me ^-^


	4. Misplaced

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and I, dancing by our own standards of normalcy: an abstract notion, lost on all but the two of us

_“They’re red. I like that.”_

_Zhengting tilts his head sideways, eyebrow raised in pointed distaste. “They aren't usually red…” He muses tiredly, focusing on the buds that wilt under his fiery gaze. He feels the accustomed temptation to snap them off their delicate laurels, but finds he doesn't wish to allow them the mercy of being transformed into rubies at his touch. And so he stays silent, quietly watching as the red drains from their being. “That’s a pretty sight.”_

________________

 

Every murderer, Xukun thinks, has a preference for their mode of killing. And by that Xukun doesn’tsimply mean the cliched notion of choosing between gun and knife, hand or arrow. No, those are purely decorative, picture a cherry on top of an elaborate ice cream sundae. But he doesn't blame anyone for thinking that way, understands its just another case of inexperience leading to severe misconceptions.

_“It’s not that simple, Jun.”_ He remembers saying, as he'd sat the older down and begun lecturing him on the intricacies of his art. 

_Their_ art. 

It had been an interesting exchange, he realises now. Just the two of them, quietly sipping from cocaine-stained glasses whilst sitting upon worn-out leather couches. Bitter smoke billowing in dense clouds as they exhaled in complementary rhythm, incoherent musings escaping from chapped lips into minds that were too far gone. Xukun all decked out in black satins and ripped jeans, Yanjun fashioned in vibrant blue and faded grey denim. _“It’s about where you target, that one place that guarantees success and shows your most merciful side as you strike.”_

_“I don’t know, Kun…”_ Yanjun utters as he stares through heavy lidded eyes, slamming down the glass which threatened to slip out of his fingers and stain the carpet a sickly brown. Xukun is giddy with laughter as he follows suit, except he throws his own down with just a little too much force. Crystal shards glisten in the midst of thick crimson and velvety wine, and Xukun sobers as he slides one out of his own skin. _“Oops,”_ he comments in characteristic nonchalance, as if he hadn’t had time to process what must have been stinging agony. 

 

But Yanjun thinks this may just be Xukun’s twisted version of normalcy.

_“I’ll go get the bandages…”_ he mumbles, trying to remember how to stand and realising he’s all but forgotten as he slips onto cold marble. A low groan escapes as his eyebrows furrow, and Xukun chuckles as he takes a swig from the older’s now abandoned glass. _“Don’t bother,”_ Xukun hums as he slides off the couch and settles down beside the intoxicated man. Sickly sweet scents of familiar toxins fill his lungs, distracting him from the throbbing ache that prevented him from giving in to the warm embrace of eternal sleep. 

_“You-“_

_“I know.”_ Xukun smiles as he gently tilts Yanjun’s head the other way, the latter full of wilful protests yet rendered powerless by the influence of one too many illegal substances. _“It’s okay, I know.”_

Xukun watches as the older shakes his head, laughs at the muted “ _ouch”_ and _“no, no”s_ that escape as he clutches his head and steadies himself. _“I-I’m going to get some tissues, boss,”_ he rambles, gaze darting about aimlessly. _“Just… wait. I’ll be back in a-“_

Xukun finds a grip on his wrist, and pulls him back with surprising force before he even finishes his sentence. _“I said, it’s okay.”_ He growls lowly, eyes dark as he stares at the confused man whom Xukun knows would have been frightened senseless without the aid of the numbing drugs. Slowly he releases his hold, apologising half-heartedly for the bruising that litters the once even skin. _“I told you not to bother… and you didn't listen.”_

_“But you’re ble—“_

_“I know, I know.”_ The blonde repeats as he prods his dripping jeans. _“I’ll clean it up later, now go to sleep.”_

_“You mean Ziyi will clean it up…”_ Yanjun whispers, and Xukun’s face contorts though he doesn’t comment, head tilted back to savour the very last drops of the last can of beer. _“You’re too noisy…”_ Xukun frowns, as he sends the man falling to the ground. Content with the newfound serenity, Xukun leans backwards tiredly and ponders over his own hypothesis as he closes his eyes.

________________

 

_For him, it had always been the neck._

He’s tried many alternatives in his lifetime, but finds he derives unparalleled joy from severing the bridge between mind and motion.

Xukun thinks the biggest difference between his hobby and that of others lies in how long it'd taken him to develop an interest and find his forte. Many artists he used to know had spent countless years trying to perfect their craft, slowly but surely finding themselves and developing a style that flaunted their innermost thoughts and desires. He’s heard of many pitiable beings who were left displaced after dabbling in a myriad of fields that only turned out to be fruitless ventures, buds of hope wilting away slowly like leaves falling from branches in Autumn. Eventually they’re left with nothing but fragile shells of despondence, sucked into a never-ending cycle of self-inflicted detriment and they come crawling to the likes of Xukun for relief from this dastardly world.

So, Xukun knows, he must be one of the lucky few.

He had been a bundle of nerves the first time he’d tried to wield a knife, all excitement and hysteria and inexplicable delight. It had been a pathetic and messy attempt on his part, and Xukun wrinkles his nose at the memory of splattered red and spilling guts littering the walls and streets where he stood. He hadn't been strong enough then, a frail little boy lacking in experience and thoughtful planning, all clumsiness and shaking hands.

Naturally, his first stab hadn't done much else but to elicit screams of pain and shock from his victim, but of course that wasn’t enough to satisfy his hunger. And so he’d begun striking in a frenzy, a flurry of rapid movements mixed with desperate cries for mercy that only rushed the youth for fear of exposure. He doesn’t recall if the voices had dimmed before the light had faded from his eyes, and neither does he remember if he'd run out of energy before, during, or after the cries had stopped. But that’s diverging from the topic and ultimately irrelevant so he’ll just leave it at that.

Now, Xukun wouldn’t consider himself to be particularly bloodthirsty or vicious, he really wouldn’t. For someone who finds fascination in murdering people one would be surprised that he doesn't bode well with torture and other forms of prolonged violence. He supposes that, along with his lack of desire to kill his friends, is enough proof that he's still humane after all.  But the point is that Xukun had realised after multiple stabbings that the deepest wound had been below the man’s jaw. Xukun is an avid fan of psychoanalysis, so he believes that his subconscious reach for such a strange placement proves his inclination.

As it turns out, he was right.

________________

 

“I’m getting bored, Chen.” Zhengting whines, long limbs sprawled across the bed as he reaches out for his silk pillows. He pulls one of them closer, hugging it tight as he rolls over and onto the floor. He doesn't miss Yanchen’s condescending snort, so he flings the pillow sideways and grabs another for good measure. “Stop laughing, I’m hurt.”

“You brought it upon yourself, Ting. You really shouldn't be complaining.”

“But I’m _bored_ , Chen.” Zhengting sighs, crystal orb materialising in his palm. He takes in the familiar scene of luscious green leaves and obnoxiously grandeur river (he takes full credit, thank you very much), and frowns at its perfection. “Look, no one’s coming.”

Yanchen hands him a glass of water, a kind gesture that Zhengting rejects with a shake of his head. So Yanchen opts to drink from it himself, ignoring the gaze of disdain that appears on the angelic face. “I don't know, Ting. Seems pretty screwed up to me that you'd want someone to walk through death’s door for your own amusement, don't you think?”

“… The world needs to be rid of idiots.”

“Your stubborn nature astounds me every time.” Yanchen laughs as he settles down across the room, blending in perfectly with the pearlescent decor and baby pink hues that ran down the walls. Zhengting broods in his spot, dressed in robes of white silk and silver-tinted velvet, elaborate makeup and ethereal beauty ironically setting him apart like an intruder into his own room. Yanchen sometimes wonder if he truly doesn't belong with the rest of them, always appearing (and acting) like a higher being despite the lack of hierarchy. “…Why are you staring at me?” 

Yanchen snaps out of his daze, flashing his signature smile at his friend who looks on in apprehension. “Don’t come closer to me you creep.” Zhengting utters though he doesn't flinch as Yanchen envelopes him in a hug. Tinkling laughter fills the air as Yanchen releases Zhengting, who gags and shudders in mock violation.

“Wait, Ting…”

“What?” Zhengting snaps, about to slap his friend’s arm though the other’s distant gaze stops him in his tracks. “Are you feeling alright, Chen?”

“You might want to look at your toy before you hit me.”

And so Zhengting glances downwards, noticing a shift in the trees as three figures emerge. He straightens up, much too quickly that it stuns Yanchen for a brief moment, before he regains the ability to breathe. “Are you _that_ excited..?” He tries, but Zhengting is already gone, a cloud of white floating where he’d stood just moments ago. Yanchen picks up a silvery note off the ground, grinning as he’s reminded of his companion’s childish tendencies.

 

_Bye Chen, I’m off to watch someone die. I love you!! -Tingting_

______________

 

_“Where are you?”_ Ziyi’s voice crackles across the line, distorted but not quite indiscernible. Yanjun fiddles with the watch in his pocket, glancing back every few minutes to check on the blonde man who peacefully sucked on a joint that had been conjured up somewhere along the way. 

“I’m not sure…” He responds quietly, staring up at the mountainous terrain that stretched across the horizon. “There isn’t much to go by, really. But I think we’re somewhere near the East coast.”

_“No shit, that’s only an hour from where we last met.”_

“Well, you asked.” Yanjun says, kicking the stones in the ground as Xukun signals for him to hurry up. He nods in response, turning away as he licks the lips he hadn't known were dry. “But that hardly matters, does it? We’re all heading to the same place anyway.”

_“You expect me to trust you to get your ass over there when you can’t even pinpoint where you are?”_

“Hey, I’m sure boss knows his way. It’ll be fine.”

_“Why did I agree to let you stay…”_ Ziyi sighs, and Yanjun can almost picture the man frustratedly rubbing his temples as he always does. He thinks Ziyi really needs to learn to express himself better, always the quiet, reserved gentleman who truly doesn't look like he belongs in their industry. “Chill out, bro. We’ll make it there safely.”

_“Stop copying me.”_

“Well, I have to go now if I don’t want to be murdered again, so I’ll talk to you later.” 

_“… Again?”_

“Long story, I’ll tell you later.” Yanjun responds quickly, ending the call over the protests and what sounds like Ziyang saying hi. He slides the van door shut, fastening his seatbelt as he watches Xukun hurl the joint out of the window.

“I… thought you were going to kill me back there.” Yanjun whispers as he touches his neck tentatively, as if to make sure he was actually still alive. He hears the other chuckle as the van speeds on, completely void of malice though Yanjun still feels the chilling sensation that arises with every melodious note. “If you keep going faster, I’m not going to have enough wind in my lungs to sustain myself, boss.”

Xukun smiles through the mirror and meets Yanjun’s nervous gaze, reaching out to rest his arm across the other’s shoulder though it does little to relieve the tensions that exist in every fibre of his being. “I guess you could say I’ve taken your breath away, _Ge_.” He winks, and Yanjun chokes on the dust-riddled air that burns his throat.

“Did you just- boss, are you mocking me?”

“Maybe.” Xukun shrugs as he withdraws his arm, playful smirk tugging on his lips. “You should stop being a flirt to everyone, Yanjun.”

“Why?” Yanjun asks with regained confidence, arms raised above his head as he sits upright and stretches lazily. “Are you jealous, Kun?”

“Hey, I let it go once but that doesn’t mean you can call me that, you twat.”

“You called me Ge, let me have my moment.” Yanjun taunts, fixing his hair using his front camera. “I deserve at least 10 minutes for being your puppet.”

“Puppet?” Xukun asks, confusion flashing in his eyes as he ruffles Yanjun’s hair, earning him an indignant yell of disapproval.  “I was your practice target for strangulation you ass.”

 

“Say that again, I dare you.”

“10 minutes, Kun, after that I’ll revert to calling you boss again.”

Xukun rolls his eyes and stares ahead, tapping his fingers and reaching for the gears all at the same time. “And what if you become rude without reason again?”

“You know, I’m fairly certain you're the disrespectful one Kun, I’m your elder.” Yanjun replies jokingly, relieved when Xukun smiles in response. “But if I do then I’ll give you permission to kill me.”

 

A pause.

 

“… Really?” Xukun muses absentmindedly, caught by surprise as Yanjun nods. “Yeah, if I ever allow myself to be that careless, then that’s what I deserve.”

 

Silence, this time permanent, surrounds them like the whirling air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first italicised part was a snippet of an upcoming chapter, an interaction between zhengkun cause I think i've deprived you guys for too long haha.
> 
> And yes I didn't kill of Yanjun, of course I couldn't! If you have any queries about the fic, just let me know in the comments below cause I don't think I'm very good at being subtle in my expression haha
> 
> Do leave me kudos and comments, they encourage me to update as frequently as I do~ ^-^


	5. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a world as messed up as ours, is there really any normalcy?

Yanjun glances up from his phone as Ziyi walks past him for the fifth time in an hour, sticking his foot out to which the latter responds with a simple eye roll and a dramatic side step. “Hey, maybe stop treating me like I’m invisible.”

  
“Then kindly shut up and let me go about my business in peace.” Ziyi responds softly, like he always does, fingers running up and down the barrel of his handgun. Yanjun thinks it’s intriguing, how the man never fails to seem all sorts of gentlemanly and kind, yet always has his hands busily rummaging around in his pockets as if they were about to be subject to mortal danger at any given moment. Yanjun finds it ridiculous, but he’s already cheated death twice today and he’s one of the biggest believers in the saying “third times the charm”. So he fiddles with his fingers and leans against the railing, waiting for Ziyi to return.

 

Ziyi brushes past him for the tenth time now, and Yanjun thinks he’s finally had enough with silently counting. He’s not an unreasonable person by any measure, but he knows Xukun has asked for some alone time with the man named Zheng Ruibin, so Ziyi really has no reason to be as distracted as he is. Their boss is out of sight, so Yanjun thinks the only normal reaction should be to keep him out of mind.  
Clearly, Ziyi disagrees.

  
“You’re being obvious.” He comment as he watches the man’s gaze drifts back towards the draping curtains, marking it down as the first time he’s seen Ziyi express anything besides stoicism and murderous intent. On any other occasion he supposes he would’ve been amused, but there’s really nothing around to keep him busy and his phone had died on him just a little over an hour ago. Ziyang had drifted off with promises of returning within an hour somewhere along the way, and though Yanjun hasn’t been paying much attention, he’s fairly certain it’s been at least three since the man had gone riding off into the sunset with his pistol in the passenger’s seat. “If you keep ignoring me, I’m going to assume you’re honestly just jealous of me.”

  
Yanjun stares as Ziyi tenses for a split second, fingers curling inwards as he blinks. Satisfied with himself, the silver haired man relaxes and waits in careless anticipation, perching on the thin surface, relying on nothing but his sense of balance. If Ziyi were to nudge him even slightly, Yanjun knows he’d find himself rolling down the edge of the mountain in a matter of seconds. But Ziyi isn’t like that, so Yanjun remains complacent and even attempts to lift his right foot off the ground.

  
Finally Ziyi turns to look at him, and for a moment Yanjun wonders if this is what it feels like to be a piece of red fabric fluttering in the wind. But he brushes it off and flashes his trademark smile, deadly to most but clearly redundant in the eyes of the cold man standing before him. It almost makes him wince, and Yanjun thinks it’s time to purchase a mirror.

  
“Why would I be?” It comes out more defensive than Ziyi would have liked, and Yanjun realises he mustn’t have lost his touch after all. Suddenly it’s all much more amusing to him, and Yanjun wonders how fucked up all of them must truly be to find joy in the presence of vicious glances and satisfying trepidation. But thinking is a waste of brain cells and besides, he finds more satisfaction in savouring the present.

  
“You know why,” he responds simply, all smug as he watches Ziyi’s face contort in all sorts of ways he hadn’t known was possible. For a moment he thinks he sees fear flash in his eyes, but its Ziyi so Yanjun knows he must have seen wrongly. The lanky man stalks towards him, and Yanjun allows his smirk to fade just a little as he grips onto the cold metal with his right hand. “Wow you’re finally acknowledging my presence? Now that’s a nice change.”

  
Ziyi pauses a few steps away, and Yanjun runs his fingers through his own hair, though he wishes he could reach out and tug at the ends of Ziyi’s jet black hair. Not like how he normally does as he bashes his victims’ heads into the solid dust, nor like how a lover caresses his loved one’s locks sleepily at dawn. It’s more of an experimental thing, kind of like how Yanjun makes a habit of touching one too many inanimate objects with the excuse of familiarising himself with a myriad of textures for future use. Just in case, he always says, as Xukun glances at him condescendingly while he scrapes his fingers across glass shards and rusty walls.

  
Or at least, that’s what he tells himself as he glances down at his palm, acutely aware of the fact that Ziyi has Long returned to pining hopelessly after their leader. “You do know he can’t see you, right?”

  
“I know.” Ziyi replies a little too quickly, and Yanjun doesn’t miss the malice in his tone. “And I’m not fucking jealous so you can go fuck yourself.”

  
“You brought it up yourself.” Yanjun shrugs as he pushes off and places a hand on the other’s shoulder. “There’s no point in denying it, but we all know you wouldn’t be alive if you’d been the one by his side this morning.”

  
“...Maybe fuck off.”

  
Wistfulness filling in the spaces once occupied by frustration, Yanjun observing silently as Ziyi detaches himself from his grasp, fingers suddenly paralysed by the cold breeze. Ziyi stepping away with gentle steps, casting one last glance before pulling open the doors. An engine revving, dust kicking up as tires screech. Tracks imprinted into the dirt, Yanjun left behind as the vehicle disappears into the night sky.

  
A tent opening briskly, two men exiting with arms around each other, drunken gazes exchanged as words are slurred in a foreign tongue. “Hey, Jun.” Xukun greets, Yanjun already rushing over to support his weight without so much as a request. “Yes, boss?”

  
“I want to sleep.” Xukun mumbles sleepily, rubbing his eyes in a manner that makes Yanjun’s breath catch. _Ziyi’s going to kill me_ , he thinks as he regains his composure and reaches out tentatively for the blonde locks covering Xukun’s eyes, content when the latter hums quietly, leaning his head on Yanjun’s shoulder. He flushes a bright pink, wary glance directed at the foreign man standing only a few inches away. Thankfully, the brunette is far too high to concern himself with the blatant display of affection transpiring before him, so Yanjun nods in parting as he lifts Xukun off the ground and carries him over to the car.

  
The heavy stench of alcohol fills the compact space and Yanjun grins a little as he takes in the view of their leader looking the most innocent he’s been in years, all rosy cheeks, unkempt hair and incoherent mumbling. He wonders just how much the two must have drunk for Xukun to be this unguarded, so he supposes this Ruibin guy isn’t that sketchy after all. He instinctively reaches for his phone, but catches himself when he realises the attempt would be as futile as if he were to capture an image of the setting sun. Sometimes, Yanjun has learnt, the most picturesque scenes are meant to be treasured with the naked eye.

  
And so, he releases his grip and imprints the image into his mind.

  
_Ziyi is really going to kill me for this,_ he thinks as Xukun curls up against his chest, Yanjun already envisioning all the methods by which he could die at Ziyi’s hands. But the arm snaking around his torso is warm, and so Yanjun glances down at their intertwined hands and finds he wouldn’t mind even if Ziyi were to stumble upon their moment of intimacy.

  
_____________

 

Justin, Zhengting thinks, is nothing but a bundle of childish antics and sheepish smiles. More often than not Zhengting finds he is the instigator of one too many snowball fights, always running around with more energy than the older could ever wish to muster as he slides bits of ice down Wenjun’s pink sweaters and Chengcheng’s white pants. “ _I’m sorry”_ , he’d always giggle whilst being shoved into the off-white snow, fingers turning purple and cheeks flushing a vibrant shade of cherry red. “ _Enough_ ”, Zhengting would cut in, dragging his children off of each other and ushering them indoors, shaking his head as they flock around the steaming hot cups of cocoa like deer drawn to mechanical headlights.

  
Wait, scratch that. He doesn’t mean it that way.

“ _Thanks, mom!_ ” They would chorus in unison, Yanchen swinging an arm across his shoulder as he stands with crossed arms, eyes fluttering shut in mock annoyance. They’d turn away soon enough, all noisy chattering and playful bantering by the time Zhengting opens his eyes, all rejuvenated and rushing off leaving three empty cups on the wooden table without a hint of remorse. Zhengting would then detach himself from Yanchen’s side, sweeping white ceramic into his arms and dumping them in the sink, soaking and scrubbing in perfectly timed motion.

  
It’s always been this way, their little group working in perfect harmony, a stellar imitation of clockwork that makes Zhengting wonder what would happen if one day someone ran away into the woods and never returned. But he can’t even hazard a guess, because all his life Zhengting has been exposed to nothing but perfection, and it’s exactly that which ignites an inexplicable pit of fury within the angelic man.  
Perfection, Zhengting thinks, is a heavily misconstrued notion in the eyes of the Everyman. An individual with a strong moral compass, filled with compassion, empathy and kindness makes up the most typical stereotype amongst all he has come across. But that isn’t perfection, not to Zhengting.

  
Perfect isn’t an ideal, perfection is finding the balance between good and evil. Possessing either in excess will only spell trouble, and Zhengting doesn’t see how humans could be so grossly misinformed. And Zhengting is exactly that, forcefully balanced on the thin bridge between the two though he desperately wishes he could take off and dive headfirst into the murky waters down below.

  
So he tries to find faults with his friends, he really does. And more often than not he succeeds, perpetually yelling at Chengcheng for losing his socks for the fifth time in a day and chiding Justin for breaking things around the house. A Long time ago he’d harboured hope that the uncharacteristic infuriation would disrupt the cycle of perfection, allow him to feel free for even just a second as he ventures into the realm of “unreasonable”. But even annoyance becomes perfectly reasonable after thousands of years of cohabitation, leaving Zhengting pathetically longing for a day when he can say with confidence that he’s no longer flawed in only the most predictable and expected ways.

______________

 

Yanjun wakes up to cold metal pressed against his forehead, but he’s unfazed and reaches up slowly to rub the sleep out of his eyes. It could have been anyone, really. Could have been a vengeful Ziyi who’d stumbled upon the scandalous scene last night, an amused Xukun who’d had enough fun with him, or even just the trigger happy Ziyang who’d gotten just a tad bit too bored. But he sees through half lidded eyes unfamiliar black locks and a strangely disconcerting smile, and suddenly he’s awake and reaching for his own pistol.

  
But his fingers brush against nothing but dry leather, and so Yanjun curses as he glares daggers at the stranger who continues smiling as if he weren’t well equipped to blow Yanjun to pieces at any given moment. “Good morning,” the man greets with a lopsided grin, and Yanjun almost gawks at the casualness of it all.

  
“Is this what they call a rude awakening?” Yanjun questions as he finally finds his voice, kicking himself mentally since this is lame, even by his standards. And that’s saying something, so Yanjun sincerely hopes he hasn’t signed his own death certificate because believe it or not, he thinks he ought to at least be buried by someone who’s name he knows. But the man chuckles half heartedly and removes the gun, and Yanjun can only pray that no one else is around to see the red mark that is imprinted into his forehead.

  
“I was really about the pull the trigger, you know, if you continued keeping quiet.” The man commented, stuffing his gun into his back pocket nonchalantly as Yanjun fixes his fringe in the mirror. “Well, good thing I have a way with words, then.” He winks, as the other shakes his head and visibly cringes.

  
“You really shouldn’t be making stupid comments when a gun’s pointed and ready to fire.”

  
“But it saved me this time.” Yanjun shrugs, stumbling out of the car in a daze as he holds a hand out towards the stranger who looks back with a questioning glance. “Now if you’d kindly return my gun?”

  
“Sure.” The man shrugs as he throws the black metal into the air, Yanjun catching it with expert ease and precision. “What’s your name, by the way?”

  
“What’s next, you’re going to ask for my number?” Yanjun laughs, and he can literally see the regret appear. “Pretend I never asked.”  
“I’m kidding, I’m Yanjun. And you?”

  
“Suddenly I’m inclined to keep quiet lest you bombard me with more bullshit.”

  
“Fair enough.” Yanjun muses as he glances around, seeing nothing but empty plains and dried up vegetation that depresses him to no end. “Where are the others?”

  
The black-haired man doesn’t respond verbally, simply nods towards the tent before turning to face Yanjun. A thoughtful glance crosses his features for a brief moment, edges of his lips curving upwards and Yanjun realises he’s quite a handsome man. “What, changed your mind? Because I’d really like to put a name to this face right here.”

  
“No, just felt like I needed to point out the fact that I’m only here in the scorching sun because your lazy ass couldn’t get up early enough.”

  
“Ah, so you’re my babysitter.” Yanjun smirks, as he swings an arm over the other man’s shoulder. He flinches, but doesn’t do much else, so Yanjun leaves it there and begins walking towards the tent. “Well, my babysitter, we’re already this close, don’t you have anything to say to me?”

  
“Do you flirt with everything that moves?” The latter replies instantaneously, flinging Yanjun’s shoulder off with a playful grin on his face. “Or did you want to hear something else?”

  
“Give me your name, come on.”

  
“Maybe next time.”

  
“Push and pull, huh.” Yanjun mumbles under his breath, fiddling with the keys in his palm. “I’m surprised you can resist.”

  
“Yeah sure.” The mysterious man laughs, rolling his eyes. “Now let’s go in.”

 

Luo Zheng, Yanjun later learns, is the man’s name, and he thinks it suits him rather well. It’s short but definitely not sweet, and from the little he knows about the man he’s rather tall and quite mellow. But it’s a good complement nonetheless, so Yanjun makes himself comfortable calling the man by a pet name though it only earns him eye rolls and threats of death.

  
The sun has set by the time they set off, baggage loaded onto minivans as they speed off in formation, the sandy plains now utterly deserted with nothing but a desolate tent to indicate they’d ever been there. Ziyi focuses on the road as Xukun rests by his side, Ziyang drowsily petting his gun, ever so often directing it at Yanjun who gasps in mock desperation. “Hey boss, where are we going again?”

  
“Lefuria.” Ziyi cuts in before Xukun can, and Yanjun nearly chortles at the harshness of his voice before Xukun sniggers and lays a hand on Ziyi’s shoulder. “Come on, Yi. Let him live. We all know Yanjun has half a brain cell.”

  
“Should I be offended?” Yanjun chuckles, leaning over to hit Xukun’s back, gaze trained on the man who tenses in the driver’s seat. Xukun responds by ruffling Yanjun’s hair, the latter only slightly concerned that Ziyi would just recklessly ram them into a wall. “I’m being abused, I should’ve shared a car with Luo Zheng.”

  
“So close already?” Ziyang questions, eyebrow raised as he prods Yanjun in the side. “Why, jealous? I’m honoured.”

  
A pointed gaze bores into the back of Ziyi’s head, and though he doesn’t respond, the increasing pace is enough for Yanjun to know that yes, he has heard him.

 

And very clearly at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I just make everyone flirt with everyone? Yes I did don’t shame me ehbdibs I hope y’all liked this chapter, it’s a little longer than the rest but idk haha do y’all prefer the old length or the new one? Let me know !! <:
> 
> Also, intense zhengkun incoming

**Author's Note:**

> Am I a sadist for thinking of this? Maybe. Is this worth continuing? If you liked it, consider leaving kudos or comments! I'll reply to all of them <3
> 
> Find me on twitter @valuranafaria for fic updates and fan art of our favourite boys :)


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